A Friend for Kurt
by The Glider Girl
Summary: Kurt meets someone who has more in common with him than any other mutant he has ever met. CURRENTLY UNDER REDUX!
1. A Quick Rescue

**Note from teh G-girl:**

Kurt (next to Logan, of course) is my absolute favorite x-man. I've always felt a bit bad for him that he was alone in that he has such an extreme physical appearance that he cannot hide (except for image inducer; and no, Mystic doesn't count, she can change her appearance at the push of a button), and I wondered what it would be like for him to meet another mutant who shares the same problem and experiences. So, I created my own mutant.

This is not a Mary Sue, by legal definition. It's more what I would call a "self-insertion" into a story. A lot of her personality is similar to mine, but a large amount of it is also taken from Kurt himself. She's just what the title sugests: a friend for Kurt.

Anyway, I know this first chapter is short, but read and review if you want to. More coming soon.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Sadly.

And now, on with the story:

_**Beep Beep Beep**_

X-Gene Detected 

_Name: Unknown Mutant, unspecified_

_Age: Unspecified_

_Current Location: South of Paris, France_

_'Scott, prepare the blackbird. And find the other X-Men. A new mutant just revealed itself, and I have a feeling we might be needing more than luck on this one.'_

* * *

Pain. It is all that I can feel, all that I can concentrate on. My focus is turned. She knows that now is the time to attack. And so she does. Again and again and again. I cannot fight back. I cannot keep up. The pain subsides for a moment. She stops, possibly to gloat over me, me and my destruction. The one thing keeping her from ultimate power shall soon be obliviated. 

She does not know how wrong she is.

I look around at the decimated clearing. Everything burns from the heat of her flame. My very skin is on fire. My mind is consumed in an unrelenting inferno. My younger sister, Water, lies to my right. Her beautiful white feathers have been burnt to ash. Her gorgeous brown hair is no longer fine and straight, it is crimped and sooty. Her black, black eyes are closed forever. My brother, the only boy, Earth, lies to my left. His skin was once covered in brown plates of caked mud. They are now black and volcanic. His ruby red hair is vanished in the blaze. His bat like wings are broken; they will never touch the sky again.

And here I kneel, bent double with pain and exhaustion. My emerald green scales are dull and glinting. My dragon wings are torn asunder. My round, silver eyes see nothing but death and tears. My fangs grimace. My tail lies limp at my side. Blood runs down my hands and arms and back. The blood of the siblings I swore to protect. The blood I have failed. My blood.

I raise my head to see her laugh, a cruel and bitter laugh that makes me want to kill her here and now. Her hard, jagged scales of blood red death are glowing in the light of the fire. Her wings unfold in joyous torment. Her tail is striking the air, a victory dance, the diamond shaped opals in her eyes are leering, begging me to try to defend myself, taunting me, driving me into the pit of insanity even as my mind lingers . . .

I find the strength to stand. I clench my jaws and feel my fangs pierce my lips, the taste of blood upon my tongue. I will not die. I will not give up. I will not let her win. I will not give her the satisfaction. I run at her, swinging.

She is unprepared, and the force of my body as I hurl it at her, tackling her to the ground is sharp and jolting. I swing, ripping into her flesh with all my might. For a minute, I believe she is truly afraid; I believe she realizes that she cannot defeat me, the most powerful of the elements.

And then she reacts. And I am pain once more.

I hear the sound of man made engines, above my head and descending. Surely I must be hallucinating? There is a rush of wind, a cool and refreshing wind that seeps into my bones and lessens the pain. I pry my eyelids apart.

A few feet away, there is a plane. A large, black plane. Figures emerge from it, wearing funny costumes and shouting at each other. One runs and ice sprouts from his hands, distilling the flame that surrounds me. Another runs towards my siblings, feeling for a pulse they will not find. My brother is taken onto the plane. My sister quickly follows. I am approached by a bald man in a wheelchair. Beside him walks . . . an angel? He walks on tridactle feet, with blue skin and a long tail. He kneels before me.

I see two golden orbs. And nothing else.

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"Is she alive, Kurt?" Professor X asked with a little hesitation. Had they been too late? 

"Yes, she is breathing. But, look at her, Professor. She –"

"Needs urgent medical attention. Quickly, bring her and we must be off, before the smoke attracts the local towns people," the Professor interrupted, and turned back towards the plane.

Kurt peered down at the young girl. She could not be older than 15, wearing dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt with brown boots on her feet. She looked like a dragon.

What would have been her flesh was emerald green, smooth fine scales covering every inch that Kurt could see. Her fingers had sharp little points on them, like claws, and there were monstrous wings that looked to be ten feet wide and five feet long, as shredded and tattered as they were. Her mouth was hanging open, bright white fangs contrasting enormously with her brilliant green scales.

_You must have beautiful eyes,_ Kurt thought, lifting her gently from the ground. She did not stir, but Kurt saw the greet tail with it's three points and curved edges dragging along the ground, and he placed it in her lap beneath her hands.

He carried her to the Black Bird and allowed Storm to take her from him. He watched in utter fascination as she strapped her to a medical bed and put her on an IV and started wrapping her cuts.

He knew that the X-Genecould cause alterations of physicalappearances in mutants, but never had he seen one so exceedingly visible.

Except, of course, in the mirror.


	2. The World is Blue

**Note from teh G-girl:**

Here's Chapter two, for all you peoplz who have waited so paitently! And here's to the reviewers! Methinks I aught to dedicated this chapter to you dudes!

Anyway, it's Saturday, I'm bored, and I can't get passed the new level on my new computer game, so I thought I'd cruze on over here and post this little treat for you alls.

ps - If any of you get real confussed about the going back and forth in between Kurt and New Mutant, feel free to put your head between your legs until the dizzying motions stop.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Sadly.

G-girl

* * *

Pain is not something I am not accustomed to feeling upon awakening. It is something that comes from a punch in the eye, a kick in the shin. You do not feel through your eyelids a searing heat from a blinding white light you cannot evade; you are not struck by a sudden force that feels as though a sledgehammer is being whacked against your temple upon surfacing into consciousness; you do not become aware of your surroundings while feeling as though you have been run over by a train, and then clobbered with a rough stick. It is not natural. 

Then why do I feel this way?

And then I remember.

"Are you awake?"

I must be dreaming. This voice is calm, still, and there is a lilt to it I cannot identify. An accent that hovers beyond my reach.

A minute passes, and I do not answer, so it speaks again.

"Well, I suppose you are not. But then, it has been three days. Why should you wake up now?"

Three days? Of what? Suspension? Hovering? Life, or death. Which answer would I fear more, I wonder.

"And once again, that is all the more reason for you to wake up, because you have been asleep for so long. Ah, but look at me. Talking to a mind that is either comatose, or simply sleeping. I must be crazy, no?"

I wonder if I should answer. It obviously expects one.

But then, how would I know that I was not talking to thin air as well?

Perhaps I have imagined this voice. Perhaps there isn't one. Perhaps I am dead and this is the trial that awaits me.

Or perhaps I am simply being rude and ignorant.

There is only one to fix this, and discover what this voice belongs to, or at the very least, where it is coming from. I must open my eyes and see for myself.

That might be a little hard, though.

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Kurt wondered why he was still talking to this little dragon girl. He had stayed more or less in the vicinity, mostly by her bedside, waiting for her to wake up. By the end of the first day he was having imaginary conversations with her in his head, wondering how she might answer him, and the next he was asking her questions. It was not that he expected a reply. It just seemed . . . proper.

So he was a bit startled when on the fourth day, she moved. Well, shifted was more like it. She turned more so that her head and upper body was inclined in his direction. Had she really heard him?

And then she opened her eyes.

xxxxxxxx

I see blue. Lots of blue. A blue room with blue lights and blue blankets and a blue man. He has blue hair and blue skin, and strange carvings in his face. And his eyes. They look like amber glass.

I don't say anything, and neither does he. He must be looking at my eyes too. They are round and silver. And they glow. He must find them fascinating.

"You have golden eyes," I say, very quietly.

He does not respond. Perhaps he did not hear me?

"And your's are silver."

Perhaps he did.

"Who are you?" I ask. I try to sound politely curious. Strange I should try to be so considerate when I am lying on a bed in the middle of a blue room not knowing where I am and being watched by a big blue man with bright white fangs and golden eyes.

"My name is Kurt Wagner. What is your name?" he says, very politely as well. I wonder if he is afraid of me? It would not surprise me. And yet, he seems so calm, so composed, it's almost as if he has been preparing for this.

"I don't know. I don't have one," I say, feeling a bit embarrassed. Everyone has a name. And mine is Wind. But I cannot tell him that.

He looks thoughtful for a minute; maybe he is trying to decide whether or not I am lying to him?

"Would you give me one?" I ask. I don't know why, I just do. It's as if I have been wanting to ask for a very long time and only just now found the right moment to do so. He must think I am quite strange.

"If you would like me to," he says, looking puzzled.

"Yes, please."

xxxxxxxx

Kurt watched the girl once more in fascination. She had not shrieked, had not yelled, had not made any sign whatsoever that she was frightened or even shocked by his outward appearance. 

Her eyes were a bit startling, though. They were a bright, glowing, and very round silver; so pure and unflinching he almost wanted to look away. He felt that his own glow-in-the-dark yellow spheres where rather dull in comparison. There had been a faint glow coming from beneath her eyelids while she slept. This must have been why.

The strangest thing about her, though, was her request for a name. Kurt had never named anyone before, and wasn't sure he was quite up to the task. She deserved a fine name to be certain, something that mirrored her regal appearance, her shining scales and glowing eyes and beautiful dragon wings.

She watched him through silver shining crystals. He'd be hard pressed to disappoint her.

"What sort of name would you like?" he asked, buying time.

"I do not know. Something simple. So that it is easy to remember," she said. Her voice was calm. Almost too calm. So startlingly passive. Had her recovery not succeeded as well as he had hoped? Was she brain damaged? Her manner of speech indicated otherwise.

"What if I were to call you Alexandra?"

xxxxxxxx

Alexandra. It is such a long name. Nine little letters that sound like such a mouthful. But he seems to like it. I don't want to argue. It is not in my nature. 

"That sounds nice," I say, careful to keep my expression vague.

"If you do not like it-" he begins, looking distressed.

"No, it's fine. It's better than no name at all. In fact, it's quite lovely," I say, trying not to sound too hasty. I do not want to upset this big blue man. Not when he has been so kind, answering silly requests.

"Anyone can call you Alex. It is much shorter. Much simplier, if that is what you would like," he says, looking down at his hands.

'That is fine too," I say. I have upset him. I am such a horrible person. No, I'm not even that. I'm just an element of nature. Nothing more.

xxxxxxxx

Kurt sat and watched the girl until she fell asleep again. She had looked unhappy. She must have hated the name. It had sounded so graceful in his minds eye. He should have stuck to simple. Simple was good, comforting. It was small, not immediately overwhelming, like extravegant was. He should have stuck with simple. 

"Kurt?"

He turned to see the professor watching him. He rolled up next to Kurt.

"How is she?" he asked.

"She was awake, Professor. She spoke to me," said Kurt, still looking at the figure on the bed. Professor X watched Kurt's gaze. He looked almost like a father beside the bed of a sick child. Worried, and scared, because he could do nothing.

"And what did she say?" the Professor asked.

"She said she had no name. And – she asked me to give her one," Kurt said with a small sigh. He felt he had truly and utterly failed in the task.

"Yes?" said the Professor, softly probing.

"I knew a little girl, very much like her, in Munich. She was a tight-rope walker, in another circus. She was quite taken with me. Her name was Alexandra," Kurt said softly. He remembered the little girl. He remembered that she was so young . . . and the accident . . . he should have –

"Kurt," the Professor chided, but gently.

"Oh. Forgive me, Professor. My thoughts tend to run away with me," he said, looking at the older man.

"It is alright. Thoughts must be free to roam. I just ask that you try not to take me along with you. Those are personal memories, and should be kept as such. I wouldn't want to intrude," said the Professor.

"I understand, Professor. I shall try to think before I think in the future," said Kurt with a small grin.

"All right then," the Professor chuckled. "Come, you should probably get something to eat. You're looking thinner than usual."

"Very well," said Kurt. And, a bit hesitantly, he stood and followed the Professor out the door.


	3. The Door With No Sound

**Note from teh G-girl:**

Howdy howdy howdy! I'll bet you peoplz thought I was gone for good, dincha? >laughs maniaclly!>

Other than that, I must now go and have a heart attack because I actually updated. >urk!> (sorry to deprive you all the joy of killing me yourselves.)

Note to reviewers: >Sniff> You're all so kind! Maybe too kind . . . anyway, thank you all!

Disclaimer: I owneth nothingeth!

* * *

I open my eyes. The blue man, Kurt, was no longer there. It could not have been more than an hour or two, because the sun still shone through the curtains, and I hear voices; hundreds of voices, all happy and excited, shouting and running and alive. I have never heard voices such as these before. I sat up, and feel something tugging against my skin, on the inside of my arm. I look down. There is a needle in my vein. I carefully remove it, hissing as it comes out quickly but the mere thought of the extraction making me shudder. I hop off the bed and find a medicine cabinet on the other side of the room, pulling out a cotton ball and band aide and placing them on the slowly bleeding hole. Once it is tapped down, I sigh. I will have to shrink my wings. 

It is a slow, painful process. They shrink with some difficulty, folding in on themselves and reattaching to my body, my skin growing over the triangles with a languid energy. All that remains of the full-blown factions was what looks to be elongated shoulder blades protruding from my back. My tail I curl around my waist, where it shall not be seen.

Now to find a way back to the blue man.

There is a door just on the other side of the wall. A door with a small square window stretching across it's upper half. I walk towards it carefully. It opens.

I sink back against the wall as the door swings halfway, and a woman enters. She is tall, with snow-white hair. She's wearing a gray shirt and black pants. She steps lightly and freely, as if she is walking on air. I see my chance.

I sneak out from behind the door, slowly, carefully, and leave the woman and the pleasant little tune she is humming behind, walking down a vast hallway that is nothing but gray walls and white tile. I walk for what seems like a long time, and then everything changes drastically.

The blank walls suddenly end, and they are brown wood with large, cheery windows and paintings made by tiny hands hung upon the walls over benches and little tables that fall underneath vases filled with flowers. The tile vanishes, and beautiful crimson red carpet takes its place. Everything instantly goes from hospital clean to warm and dusty mansion. What is this place? What wonders does it hold?

I hear voices. Coming down the hall in front of me. I flatten myself against the wall. And I disappear.

My eyes closed, I cannot see the group of young girls pass underneath my very nose. They are talking in high pitched, giggling noises and they shuffle their feet, walking slowly. They are talking about ice, and brown hair, and history classes. I wait until I cannot hear their voices. They are gone.

I open my eyes. I uncloak myself. And I continue on my way.

This hallway is so long. Unending almost, until it suddenly ends and becomes a fork, another long hallway leading to the right, one to the left. Which one shall I choose?

Voices come from the right. I go left.

There are doors here. So many doors. I shall have to be careful, if I do not want to be found. At any time, they could swing open, and would shortly be followed by screams and running, and I would not be able to disappear.

I walk for a few minutes, and nothing happens, for which I am very grateful. Voices murmur behind these doors, happy voices, and excited voices. I have never heard so many voices, so much happiness, so much joy in one place! It is almost overwhelming.

This door. On my right. It is quiet. There are no voices. No emotions. It is mute.

I open it.

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Kurt heard the soft creak of rusty hinges, and the sound of wood scrapping the floor. He looked up, briefly. He could not see over the line of books. He was sitting in his favourite hiding spot, a little alcove that could not be reached unless you had wings. Or the ability to teleport.

The library (his favourite place in the entire mansion, except perhaps the kitchen) was beautifully lit, with small laps attached over the various tables, and large bookshelves that loomed in no particular pattern, so that it was almost like becoming lost in a great maze. No overhead lighting came from the roof, as it was much too high, a steeped top. There was, however, a large, circular stained-glass window set high in the western wall, through which sunlight streamed in. In the evenings, it was especially beautiful, with the sun directly shining against the beautiful greens and yellows and reds. Underneath this was a rather wide ledge, with enough room for a mattress, a demon, and plenty of books, and more room besides. Kurt loved it up here. It was quiet and calm, and out of the way. Until the day it would be discovered, of course.

Kurt stood and wondered over to the edge of the shelf; just able to see over the rows of books he had stacked there. The regular double doors used by most of the students was on the far left from where he perched, but for safety reasons there were two other doors, one in each wall, leading to hallways. The one on the right stood ajar. Kurt waited for the person to wander in.

He almost gasped when he saw who it was. The dragon girl! What was she doing out of sickbay?

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Books! A whole room full of books! Stacked higher than I could ever hope to reach! Oh, how I remember books!

I find myself twirling in circles, trying to look in all four directions at once. I want to see everything, to read them all immediately, take them all down and devour them one by one. I could spend the rest of eternity sitting in this room and reading everything, and I would never be unhappy.

I slide my finger across the titles. This must be . . . historical fiction, yes, that is what it is called. My finger rests on War and Peace. It is such a large book. I pull it from the shelf, and thumb through a few pages. I find the nearest table and set it down carefully, almost running to another shelf in my eagerness. I pull out book after book after book; soon there are too many to carry, all scattered over at least five different tables, all around this giant room!

I sit at the one underneath the glass-stained window, and pull the chain on the lamp. I grab the nearest book, and I begin to read.

Oh, I remember books!

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Kurt watched the young girl for a minute. And another. And then another. Once it became apparent that she would not be moving any time soon, and that his hiding place and he in it would not be discovered within the next few minutes, he returned to the mattress, and the book, and once more became so engrossed in it that he forgot almost entirely that there was anyone else still existing in the universe.

After what seemed like hours, he stood up and stretched. He also managed to knock over one other tower in the process.

He watched as the tower fell, almost in slow motion, and he heard himself yelling. He must have shouted timber, or look out, or just made enough noise, because the next thing he knew, a large green blur that stretched for miles on either side had crossed his line of vision in an upwards motion, and then vanished.


End file.
